A Different Kind of Revolution
by Cocolion
Summary: AU. Voldemort has won decades ago, and created the Hogwarts Games. So what disaster will happen if Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny are to compete? R/Hr H/G canon pairings. Rated T for violence.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So I tried a Crossover between HP and THG. I know the idea isn't mine, it's been written quite a couple of times already. Obviously, everything belongs to Suzanne Collins and Queen Rowling.  
**

**It's basically set in an AU!Wizarding World where Voldemort has already won and now the Hogwarts students have to fight each other in the arena. The beginning of this story's plot is quite similar to THG, but all characters are from Harry Potter.**

**That said, here we go!**

* * *

Hermione's POV

I wake with an aching feeling of anxiety settled in my stomach.

I sit up quickly and analyse the room: Padma, Parvati, and Fay Dunbar's canvas are closed, indicating their owners are still fast asleep. I envy them. Today is Reaping day, and I am more anxious than ever.

Two months ago, I became eighteen. This year, there are eighteen sheets of parchment with 'Hermione Granger' written on them in our Reaping bowl. My odds – they're worse than ever.

I cast a last glance at my sleeping Gryffinclaw dorm mates, grab my beaded bag and exit the room.

Out in the fresh air, I breathe deeply. At last I am outside, at _last_ the wide space and fresh, cool, clear air surrounds me only. The knot in my stomach seems to ease a bit.

I head for the Forbidden Forest.

They told me (being Muggle-born) that it has always been 'Forbidden', even when Minister of Magic Lord Voldemort hasn't been in power. I can't believe that, the way they still fuss about it. But I, usually so fervent about rules, go there every single day.

Simply because there is game.

I have formerly despised the idea of any creatures getting hurt, but now it is the only way, especially for a _Mudblood_, to survive. Sure, Hogwarts gives a little food (the Ministry don't want us to starve, however slave-like we Hogwartians may be) but it isn't enough to live on. I need money. I haven't got friends, except for Victor, and trading is my only possibility. Even if it still makes me nauseous. My parents don't go to Hogwarts, they can't help me, and I will probably never see them again.

Today I won't be hunting, though.

When I am in the woods, I am free. My face is a bit slacker; I am still walking stiffly, but less anxiously. And, in the woods, there is Victor.

"Hermyown?"

There has been a misunderstanding concerning my name. When I first met him here, he asked for my name, black brow furrowed, scowling. I, terrified, squeaked a "Hermione", but it had sounded more like "Hermy-owny". Besides, I believe he can't pronounce _Hermione_, anyway. I have tested.

I spin around. "Victor!"

I could have run forward and embraced him, but I don't dare. Three years ago, we had some kind of romance going on. At Corridor 9's party, he invited me. We kissed. A month later, I told him we would do better as friends and hunting partners only. So we did. Still, sometimes there is still an awkward edge to our conversations.

He is scowling at me like, hawk-like, as he always does. "Anyone see you?"

I purse my lips. "You could have a bit of faith in me", I say, miffed. "I'm not a beginner, Victor."

He scowles deeply still, and I sigh.

"No time for hunting today", I say firmly, even though I am horrified really. I try not to let it show. I'm not weak. "Reaping. It starts in half an hour, we better get going."

He grunts. "Hermyown-"

"No Hermyown", I say. "I don't want to be late _again_."

Corridor 9 is clouded with every single Gryffinclaw, so Victor and I can sneak inside easily. I feel a little claustrophobic again, pressed against those horribly fleshy bodies. I sense warmth radiating off Victor beside me. Instinctively, I grab his hand, as we make our way to the middle of the Corridor. Dolores Umbridge, the Ministry representative, stands on a little podium, begging for attention.

She wouldn't have to beg, though. She has to know she wouldn't. Everyone is listening to her, the older Gryffinclaws for their children's sake, and the youths, for their own sake. They cling to Umbridge's revolting voice like a lifeline. "_It could me this time"_, they have to think. _"This time, it could me."_

It disgusts me, but it is certainly what I am thinking.

"Dear citizens of Gryffindor-Ravenclaw", Umbridge says in her falsely sweet, high-pitched voice. "Happy Hogwarts Games! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favour!"

Victor is twenty-one. There are _twenty-one_ slips with his name on them in the bowl. My stomach twists nervously. No, the odds are not in his favour at all.

"Ladies first", says Umbridge shrilly.

I notice a person standing in the shadows of her podium. It is probably a Mediwizard. The only reason they're here is that the Ministry is afraid their actions might get out of control.

A strange feeling overcomes me. No, not that _this_ gets out of control. That _we_ get out of control.

Somehow, this thought makes me stronger.

My throat is as dry as sand, my tongue, a furry slip of paper. Suddenly, I think I know what is going to happen before Umbridge plucks her pudgy hand into the shiny bowl and unrolls the slip.

"Hermione Granger."

I draw breath sharply. Every head turns to me, watching, as I mount the podium. I feel numb, my eyes are wide.

"That's lovely", I hear Umbridge say, louder than usual. "Boys, then." I barely have time to cross my fingers. "Victor Krum!"

I cough the drought out of me. A shiver that I cannot pretend not exists runs down my spine, making me choke on my feelings. "No!", I croak, panic-stricken, struggling. "No, NO! Please! Victor! VICTOR!"

"Stupefy her!" somebody yells from another world.

And everything goes black on the edges, and I am floating, until I think no more.

When I wake, I am lying on a couch. It rattles. My body is shaking every second. I realise we have mounted the train.

_I am aboard the Hogwarts Express._

I sit up boldly; my head starts swimming. Dark figures come hurrying by. I see the blurry shapes of what are undoubtedly two men.

"Are you OK?"

"Victor?" I say, blinking the world into focus.

"Yeah. Ve vos vorried about you", he says. "You vere jinxed."

"Yes, I do remember that", I say. I turn to the other man, which I know.

He is extremely handsome; his black hair is semi-long and wavy, which contrasts nicely with the paleness of his square-jawed face with high cheekbones. His eyes, that were – as I have been told – once mischievous and bright, are now a dark, brooding shade of grey. Some say the arena has ruined him. Some say it was the arena's aftermath.

It is Sirius Black, the last Gryffinclaw victor and annual mentor of the Gryffinclaw tribute.

I sway.

Tribute. Mentor.

The Hogwarts Games' reason is simple, really. Voldemort has won over the Wizarding World, and the Ministry, some sixty years ago. Now, the Ministry wizards and Death Eaters alike have wands. The Hogwartians don't. To show its superiority, Voldemort created the Hogwarts Games; wizards between ages eleven to twenty-four have to fight each other to death, _Muggle _way. All of Hogwarts is forced to watch them on TV. Hogwarts itself, once a school with four Houses, is now a gigantic mansion with no less than ten – not Houses, but Corridors. The Sorting Hat still places eleven-year-olds into their specific Corridor. Every year two of each Corridor are reaped, with the Ministry, and Voldemort, watching in amusement.

"The Reaping's gonna be shown now. On TV", says Sirius, apparently not noticing me staring. "'Ere."

We watch the scene flicker into life.

The MoM seal, accompanied by The Anthem. Dolores Umbridge appears, smiling sickly sweet. Green and silver are draped around her. It is Corridor 1. Slytherin.

The tributes are both tall, platinum blonde, silver-eyed and haughty-looking: Draco Malfoy and Fleur Delacour.

_Remember them. Use your mind. They're going to be deadly in the arena._

Corridor 2: Slytherdor. Almost everybody there is bulky and huge, the two volunteers, Millicent Bulstrode and Vincent Crabbe, are no different.

Corridor 3. Slytherpuff. Malcolm Baddock, a third-year (people whispered), and a sly-looking girl with a face like a pug, Pansy Parkinson. I make a mental note.

Corridor 4, Slytherclaw, were Theodore Nott and Marietta Edgecombe. Both of them will have to be feared as well.

Corridor 5 was Gryffinpuff. I watch a hysterical girl called Lavender being Reaped, as well as an apprehensive-looking, freckly redhead, Ron Weasley. I find myself staring. His image is immediately glued to my mind.

Corridor 6, Ravenclaw. Anthony Goldstein's face is blank as his name was called. The girl, however, strikes me as distinctly odd. Her dirty blonde hair is long and unkempt; she has radishes dangling from her ears. She flutters onto the podium looking faraway and unimpressed.

Corridor 7. Hufflepuff. The male, Cedric Diggory, is very good-looking, even smiling. I raise my eyebrows: Hufflepuff will have a chance this year. Pudgy Hannah Abbott's bottom lip quivers contrast.

Corridor 8. Ravenpuff. Terry Boot and Cho Chang. I am nervous now.

Finally – Corridor 9! I watch as my name is called. The cameras focus on my pale pink, wide-eyed face as I mount the podium.

Victor was called. I can see me wriggling madly, screaming at the top of my lungs. I could have slapped myself. My competitors will now think I am weak. A sentimental crybaby. I will have to compose myself in the future.

The last Corridor is 10, Gryffindor. Ginny Weasley is Reaped, and it is obvious she is Ron Weasley's sister. She, too, is red-haired, light-skinned and freckled. Another cruel thing: kids never, ever, after being Sorted, see their families again, do they belong to a different Corridor.

Ginny's face is set. Fierce. She stands on the podium, and Seamus Finnigan is called. However, somebody shouts, "I volunteer!"

The cameras swivel around very dramatically. A teenager with messy black hair and round glasses dashes forward bravely. I notice his eyes are incredibly green.

"A volunteer!" Umbridge says, pleasantly surprised. She motions Seamus to go away. "And what's your name, dear?"

"Harry Potter", he says.

I have to admire Harry. He looks very strong, not physically, but mentally. I will have to watch out for him. Still, something about him makes him look harmless, even boyish. It is sad. Maybe we could be on friendly terms, had we been in the same Corridor. Now we are destined to kill, or be killed.

"Join, us, then, Harry, dear!" Umbridge says shrilly. Her voice is echoing back and forth inside my head. "And welcome to the annual sixty-first Hogwarts Games!"

* * *

**A/N: Well, how is it? Review, please? :)**

**And I know Sirius probably wouldn't be Gryffindor-Ravenclaw, but I found he just _had _to be Hermione's mentor! My other choice would have been Aberforth. **

**Love ALWAYS, Coco**


	2. Chapter 2

The Opening Ceremony. How I am fearing it! And Gryffindors are supposed to be brave.

I am standing left alone in a room after being rid of any body hair except for that on my head, applied basic make-up to, and have had my hair straightened. I admire myself in the full-length mirror. My hair is burning red as usual, but flawless, gleaming and very long. My eyelashes unnaturally thick and black. My light brown eyes are encircled in black, too.

I don't look bad at all.

If Harry would only see me. I ache with longing for him. I haven't seen him all day.

"Ginny? Are you Ginevra?"

So that is my stylist. What surprises me most: it is a woman. Rather young, too, with short, spiky pink hair, an upturned nose and heart-shaped face.

"Yeah", I say. "Who are you?"

"Your stylist. Also going by the name of Nymphadora Tonks." She makes a face. "Okay, but please call me Tonks. Just Tonks."

"O-kay", I say, unsure. "Hi, Tonks. Call me Ginny."

"OK, Ginny. Wotcha." She winks. _Winks. _Then again, she is associated with the Ministry. She probably holds a nice, happy life. Still, she is by far the best person I've met yet, if a little weird.

"I already know what I'm gonna do with you", she says slowly, a sudden manic glint appearing in her eyes. "Gryffindor red and gold ... already got it here." She taps her forehead. "So, I'm gonna dress you now. Keep your eyes closed, girly."

I shut my eyes, feel her zipping, touching, clothing, fabric, and finally, something soft.

"Open now", says Tonks.

I open and see the creature in the glass.

I am covered in a strapless, golden dress with thick, scarlet fabric interwoven to it in the skirt. My shoes are red and high; my hair is open, still very straight and reaches my mid-back.

"Wow", I say. I blink and little mascara crumbs fall off. "I'm ... well ... impressed."

"You wait", says Tonks and draw her wand. I goggle at it, awe-inspired. I have never seen a wand in my life - Mother used to tell me what grandmother had narrated to her children, about the times when normal wizards were still allowed to posess magical items. Now that's Ministry privilege. She mouths something and points the tip at me.

And suddenly, I look like a human flame. The hem of my dress seems to be burning; the whole garment emits a strong, orange glow – and my hair - ilooks as if it was on fire for real, my red tresses being illuminated. My lips are Gryffindor scarlet. This is, truly, magic.

"Great", I stammer, not able to rip my eyes away from the reflection. "That's ... Tonks. Thank you."

"No prob", she grins. "Wait 'til you meet Harry."

* * *

Harry does look stunning as well. We hold hands as we wait for the carriages with the other tributes.

Eighteen other teenagers.

Eighteen.

I will have to kill them or they kill me.

_Or Harry._

My eyes widen as I recognize by brother. _Ron!_ I want to call. Hug him tightly. Laugh with him, as we did seven years ago.

He catches my gaze. I hold my breath and smile tentatively. He grins weakly. But he _does_! He knows me! He likes me!

_How _am I supposed to fight him?

His eyes dart away, towards the carriage beside Harry and me. It is Corridor 9, Gryffinclaw. I sneak a peek at the tributes.

Victor Krum is bulky and round-shouldered. He seems unattainable, constantly scowling. If I was a Ministry official, I would definitely put some Galleons on him to win.

Hermione Granger, however ... the way she spoke with her fellow tribute, she seems to be a bit bossy, with a large quantity of bushy light brown hair – they haven't even attempted to tame it – pink cheeks (blush?) and a slim body. Her make-up is equal to mine, though there are red-rimmed glasses on her nose that I definitely didn't see at Reaping. But her clothes consist of a tight, metallic bronze blouse and scarlet gather skirt. Krum and she are clearly supposed to be visualized as the cute, smart girl and the dark, brave, protective boy.

Harry and I, not so much.

And then the Opening Ceremony begins and I can't think straight, I only see lights, flashes, hear screams of admiration and maybe even terror, something – a flower – is blown into my face and I catch it, holding it high, in Harry's and my intertwined hands.

For we belong together, and the audience has to see it.

* * *

Harry and I wear the same outfit we did at the Opening Ceremonies. Being Gryffindor, Corridor 10, we will be interviewed last.

Sirius told us most tributes would have an angle at which we would shine – sexy, modest, nice, humorous – anything. Harry was easily identified as modest and brave. We had trouble with me, until Tonks came in and suggested witty and cheeky. So I have to try that now.

A swish of scarlet wand sparks signalizes the start.

Fleur Delacour mounts the stage, looking breath-taking in a simple long, silvery-white dress. She haughtily sweeps towards the interviewer, Ludo Bagman.

Bagman is nice, but he needn't be with Fleur. If she wouldn't have answered, she would have still left the crowd awe-inspired. After ten minutes, the sparks shoot into the air again.

Draco Malfoy is sassy and sneering, feeling as if he was quite the big thing. When Ludo asks how he thought his odds were, Malfoy replies, "Well, you know, there has been quite a number of Slytherin victors. I wouldn't be surprised if there came another one."

Both Millicent and Crabbe don't say much. They just look like weapons made human.

Slytherpuff and Slytherclaw surprisingly come off as weakly. Usually Slytherclaw, at least, form salliances with Slytherin and Slytherin-Gryffindor.

Corridor 5, Gryffinpuff, is more interesting, because Ron is in it. Lavender tries sexy, but Ron is bold and smiling. I wonder if that is a has to be.

The Ravenclaw female, Luna, is quite strange. She would point out things politely, like, "There's a Bibbling Hummdinger behind you, Mister Bagman" or "You see, I think it might have been the Nargles that chose me." All in all, the Ministry wizards laugh themselves silly. I don't know if she only acts or if it is really _her_.

Anthony Goldstein's interview is horrible. I can already sense other tributes counting him out, and can't help also doing so.

Hufflepuff. Hannah Abbott is shy and unconditionally comes as shallow, but Cedric carries on smiling and behaving like a gentleman. He's scored a ten in training, rare for a Hufflepuff.

Corridor 8, Ravenpuff. Pretty Cho Chang plays shy as well, but endearingly so. She would blush frequently and laugh cutely. I don't like her, much. Terry Boot is easy-going.

Hermione Granger gets up, dressed in a long garment that – I think bemusedly – resembles mine. It is long and flowing, dark red but (being on a half-Ravenclaw) with a bluish tint, resembling the blue of a flame.

Ludo Bagman greets her good-naturedly. "Hermione! Do sit down."

She sits, looking a bit lost, smiling hesitantly.

"So, Hermione. You're in the MoM now. What has impressed you most? I mean, isn't it quite unlike Hogwarts? What was your first impression?"

Hermione looks petrified, her brown eyes darting around. Then they steady on Ludo. "Honestly?" she says slowly.

"Of course!" roars Ludo. "We're all friends, aren't we?"

That is a bit rich coming from a man who works for the people who'd have us thrown together to murder each other. _Murder_ ...

Apparently Hermione thinks so, too. Her jaw sets and she purses her lips. "Well, you're right. Hogwarts _is _different", she says in cold anger. "And my first impression was that the Ministry isn't _half _as gorgeous, even though they control the castle's every move."

BAM. That is like a bomb to the cool, laid-back Ministry citizens. They are rooted to the ground. Hermione's eyes widen, horrified, and she presses her lips together tightly, but I can't help thinking ... _that's the Gryffindor shining through._

Ludo Bagman coughs embarrassedly. "Yes, well ... moving on ... Hermione, you received an eight in training. That's quite an accomplishment, isn't it!" He smiles jovially. "So, how did you do it?"

Her face hardens. She seems to think very quickly. "I'm sorry, Mr Bagman, I don't think I'm allowed to speak about my training. I just did my very best and I'm relieved it shows in my score. I think you will see in the arena what kind of weaponry I use. I assure you, I did nothing extraordinary."

She probably shouldn't have said that, '_I did nothing extraordinary_'_, _with all the Ministry people watching who are about to sponsor her.

"Very well, very well...", says Bagman. "Then ... we all remember this horrible, horrible moment at your Reaping. " The room falls silent. I could have heard a needle drop. "When Mr Krum was chosen... What happened with you?"

I remember, too. Hermione went mad, thrashing about her and screaming blood-curling.

"I ..." She whispers. A tear falls into her lap and I frown. Is it genuine? It has to be. "Victor is my friend. I was terrified... when I watched him being Reaped. I just ... didn't think at the moment. I'm ... even glad I was Stupefied."

The room is so silent I can hear a strange buzzing.

Then sparks fly into the air, Hermione receives a hearty applause, and Victor Krum is interviewed. I don't listen. It will be me afterwards, it will be me, _me_.My sponsors will be decided now. I set my jaw. Come what may come.

I see blurry sparks. I make my way up and sit down and barely register Ludo beaming at him. His eyes are blue; a strange colour. Almost turquoise.

He smiles on. Why does he smile? How can he smile now? Why doesn't the smile stop? It is unnerving me. Why can't he stop pretending? I'm going to die. So is my brother, and probably Harry. There's nothing funny about it. I panic inside, even if I still have the hard, fierce Gryffindor expression on my face.

What did he say? What did he say?

My heard pounds way too soundly. Can he hear it?

_"__What did your stylists _do_ to you?"_ he said.

I smile cheekily.

"Oh, that's something I'd like to know, too", I say and force a chuckle that erupts into a small laugh. "Never seen magic before and immediately a victim, I tell you." I sit up straighter and grin. "I mean, look at it!" The flames seem to blaze and sizzle.

I giggle and refrain from clapping my hand over my mouth. "No, really", I say, "Tonks is a genius."

"We can see that", beams Ludo and I want to kick the smile off his powdered face. "Well, Ginny, I hear - and see, I mean, look at the Opening Ceremony - you and Harry Potter are an item. Is that true?"

Shit. Blood is bumping in my ears. Now is the moment where I'll have to decide. Gryffindor warrior or self-sacrificing lover? The lover number will make me a target. A fool. A cry-baby. A weak. The fighter thing will get me an advantage, but also a reputation. I will have to face my fears alone, and I can't protect Harry, or my brother. It is natural for me to fight in a team. Still ...

I don't know if I can do it, though. And do it rightly, so the camera believes me and does not only think I am not feeling anything for Harry. And if I help Harry, who will help Ron? (Beside the fact that Ron can cope on his own.) That Lavender girl? I don't think so. It's making me sick, but she won't make it through long after the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. I've seen her at training; I, at least, am handy with short knives.

I am shocked by the conclusion.

I will have to leave Harry. After the significant thing Tonks told me.

_Harry._

No.

"Yeah", I say boldly and smile, too. "We are."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Oops! The last one was ****_Ginny's_**** POV, obviously. Here comes the 3rd Chapter. It's a bit shorter, though. Reviews still make me smile :)**

* * *

Hermione's POV

The underground room is dimly lit as I enter. Torches cast an eerie light on the dark walls. A glass platform stands in the middle of the room, waiting for me.

Sirius doesn't speak to me as he helps me change into soft brown pants and a belt, light green blouse and a thin black jacket that falls over my knees. He tucks it in my belt so I won't stumble and ties back my bushy hair in a simple ponytail so it won't obscure my sight.

"All right?" he says finally. "Everything comfortable?"

"Yes", I say. "But ..." I feel stupid saying this. "I haven't got a Corridor token."

Sirius grins at me and I can't help feeling reassured. He sticks his hand into his robes and produces my beaded bag.

"S-Sirius!" I say. "Thank you – how?"

"Victor", he said. "He found it on the train and guessed you might want it."

If I make it out of the arena, I have to thank Victor thoroughly.

Then I remember, if I make it out, Victor won't.

"You have to step on now", says Sirius. I gulp, tuck the bag safely into my left shoe and mount the glass.

Sirius bends forward secretively. "Hermione", he says quietly. "You can do it. You are not big, or strong, but you are smart. I bet whatever it takes, you can figure out what to do." He pauses. "Did anyone give you any last words?"

"Not really", I say. "Who would?"

"Well, then here are mine. Find water. _Immediately_. And avoid hand-to-hand combat." He breathes loudly. "One last thing. You know Harry Potter?"

"Yes" I say slowly.

"When you have figured out which side you're on, find him."

The glass shuts as I open my moth bewilderedly. I compose, and look at Sirius. He taps his jaw. _Chin high. _I smile nervously, and then I rise.

We stand in a circle of ten. Ron Weasley is to my right, Hannah Abbott on my left. I find Victor standing directly across me, Harry Potter beside him. _"When you have figured out which side you're on, find him." _What did Sirius mean?

A blue lake glistens in the sun that will play tricks on my eyes, as I know. A forest lies beneath.

The Cornucopia sits in the middle of our circle. Precious items are shattered around it. I see a silver, slender bow and matching arrows. I am a good shot, and they are the only arrows, the only bow. I will have to get them. _Have_ to.

Sparks fly onto the air, accompanied by loud trumpet noises. I dash forward at once, grabbing the bow and one, two, three, four arrows, until –

WHOOSH! A knife zooms past my head and Millicent Bulstrode lets out a grumbling scream. I scramble up from the ground, sling the archery over my shoulder and run away, Draco Malfoy on my heels, and my mind is strangely clear.

The lake is before me. There is only one thing for me to do.

I dive, feel something soaring past, and plunge into the water.

It is freezing. My teeth clatter and Goosebumps erupt on my skin. I am suffocating, because there's something on my chest, pressing the oxygen out of my lungs, but I stay. Swim towards the nearest edge.

My head starts to swim, not only me. My hair whirls in front of my eyes. I let the air slowly out. My forehead aches with unbearable pain, and so do my ears. I grit my teeth, tears burning in my eyes. I will die if I don't get out now.

I kick my legs, but wait.

_Ten seconds. Ten seconds. You can do that._

_Ten._

My bow and arrows are still there. If they think I'm still alive, I can shoot.

_Nine._

I have done that before.

_Eight._

Keep kicking water.

_Seven._

My ribcage will explode, _six, _if I stay any longer.

_Five._

There is no air left.

_Four._

I _won't_ die in a lake!

_Three._

Only three seconds.

_Two._

I gurgle.

_One._

I choke.

_ZERO!_

I give an almighty kick of my legs and draw breath, cool, wonderful clear air. I roll onto hard ground and get up, water in my eyes. They haven't noticed me. I run into the forest.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hehe. I know it's been a long time, but better late than never, isn't it? Oh, and s.b. asked for a list of the tributes and their Corridors, so here it is :**

**Corridor 1: Draco Malfoy, Fleur Delacour – SLYTHERIN**

**Corridor 2: Vincent Crabbe, Millicent Bulstrode – SLYTHERDOR**

**Corridor 3: Malcolm Baddock, Pansy Parkinson - SLYTHERPUFF**

**Corridor 4: Theodore Nott, Marietta Edgecombe – SLYTHERCLAW**

**Corridor 5: Ron Weasley, Lavender Brown - GRYFFINPUFF**

**Corridor 6: Anthony Goldstein, Luna Lovegood - RAVENCLAW**

**Corridor 7: Cedric Diggory, Hannah Abbott – HUFFLEPUFF**

**Corridor 8: Terry Boot, Cho Chang - RAVENPUFF**

**Corridor 9: Victor Krum, Hermione Granger – GRYFFINCLAW**

**Corridor 10: Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley - GRYFFINDOR**

**I do hope it doesn't get too confusing :P**

* * *

Harry's POV

I sit hidden between, no, _inside_ two bushes that obscure me from view. Ginny is clutching my hand; legs bent, on guard, a short knife laying almost casually in her other hand. I told her to relax, that we're not very likely to be found here - but, as usual, she didn't listen.

I wonder what the audience thinks of us now – if they see us, that is, disappearing as we did. Shortly after the sparks went loose, I grabbed Ginny's hand and manoeuvred her towards the forest. She managed to get hold of a backpack containing a long knife and two short ones. I had the idea to split, so gave the short ones to her – she finds them handier, and it's not like I'm any good with them – so I kept the long knife, which is currently tied to my belt.

I look at Ginny's profile, her straight red hair pulled up in a messy ponytail, her pale, freckly skin, her pointy nose, and her eyebrows pulled down in an anticipating frown over tired eyes complete with purple bags underneath. As she told me, she's had trouble sleeping the last nights before the arena.

"Ginny" I say quietly. She jerks and turns to look at me. "Relax, or we'll be seen."

"We could fight them off."

"Right, but all in all, how do you estimate the odds of us winning against Slytherin and Slytherdor united – at least? C'mon."

She looks at me with that hard, fierce gaze I love, and then she slumps, rubbing her hands over her face. When she turns to look at me again, it is bright red and blotchy.

"You're right", she says. "It's getting darker, though – let's get ready for sleep."

So we do. It's getting colder also, and suddenly we're downright freezing. Zipping our body heat-reflecting jackets up to our throats, we snuggle against each other to keep warm. I'm not entirely comfortable with laying on the ground, however unexposed we may be, but I don't voice my objection. We need sleep, period – who knows how early we'll be awoken tomorrow to face the dangers of the arena.

At last, Ginny's breathing becomes gentle, steady, even. I press her closer to my body, burying my nose in her flowery scent. I will protect her. She will not be harmed. I'll protect her, even if she doesn't need my protection.

"Harry! _Harry! Wake up!_"

I haven't even noticed that I have drifted off to sleep, when Ginny whispers me awake. I immediately jump into sitting position, but she shakes her head forcefully and points into the sky. The Ministry Anthem begins to play, and I know what happens next: the dead tributes' pictures will be blasted into the sky by magic.

And there it goes. The first dead tribute is Fleur Delacour, which is strange, because Slytherins usually don't die first day. They just show her headshot, and Corridor – "1 – Slytherin". Apparently in death, the Ministry believes, we don't have names anymore. Or we just never were important enough to warrant names, like the useless cupboard in the kitchen.

Vincent Crabbe from 2 – Slytherdor, who _did_ seem stupid. Next is Pansy Parkinson from 3 - Slytherpuff. Then Lavender Brown from 5. This doesn't come as a surprise for me: I saw Millicent Bulstrode stabbing her at the bloodbath. Anthony Goldstein from 6- Ravenclaw.

So Ron Weasley made it through first day. I sneak a peek at Ginny, who looks relieved beyond her wits. I tighten my grip around her hand, matching hers, vice-like.

7 – Hufflepuff Hannah Abbott was killed. Both from 8 – Ravenpuff are dead, Cho Chang and Terry Boot, if I remember the names correctly. And that's it.

So both of 9 – Gryffinclaw made it. I'm surprised, actually: I saw Krum run from the scene, but last time I'd seen Hermione Granger she, pursued by Slytherins, jumped into a lake. A miracle that they didn't kill her, if she didn't drown at first.

Eight dead. That leaves twelve tributes for us to fight – no, wait, _eleven_, because Ginny and I won't fight each other.

As I drift off to sleep again, Ginny in my arms, I try to think of something else, like stolen hours at the lake at Hogwarts, hidden corners of our sector of the grounds, and not about this game, that is nothing more than slaughter.

* * *

Ron's POV

I let a dry sob escape my mouth as I head through the woods. Malfoy, Crabbe and Bulstrode are pursuing me. I have half a mind to stand and fight – in fact, that part might be bigger than I'd like it to at the moment – but a voice that sounds suspiciously like my mother's keeps me running. _Coward, coward_, I chant in my head.

I have just witnessed Bulstrode stabbing Lavender. But it's not true, it can't be true, because Lavender can't be simply that – _dead_. I didn't like her that much, but she's my ex-girlfriend, she's the last one of my Corridor I have, and she and I have the same _home_. A home that was dictatorial and controlled, perhaps, but also a home that once was nice, a reminder of what could be. Lavender was one of the people that bear this home, this hope, this dream, inside themselves.

As I do.

Which is my excuse for running away now.

Further, further.

Faster, faster.

Suddenly, a person emerges from the scrub before me. I recognize him: Theodore Nott. I heard his father once worked for the Ministry but got kicked out, so the whole family had to be transferred to Hogwarts. The Ministry didn't even care what they grew to be.

Especially not the son that was about to murder me.

If my few hours in the arena have taught me anything, it's that: when you are the Slytherins' enemy, they have to be feared because they are cunning and will work out a plan to take you out unnoticed; when you are the Slytherdors' enemy, they are just plain brutal; when you are the Slytherpuffs' enemy, they can be dealt with: they're determined, but just. However, the _real_ dangers are the Slytherin-Ravenclaws: resourceful, intelligent, logical and sly, they will do anything to achieve their goal by using their fucking brilliant minds.

A Slytherclaw faces me, and I know this isn't good. So I do one the thing he won't expect because it's illogical: I punch him on the nose.

Regrettably, he clings to my arm when he falls, bringing me down with him. I draw my sword as I go down, and slash blindly. I clench my teeth and suppress a shudder as the blade cuts his arm, but I'm free.

Malfoy, Bulstrode and Crabbe are mere yards away now. I grab a few rocks from the ground and chuck them at my foes as a distraction, before I sprint, zig-zagging, away.

That should be enough for the bloody audience. They've had a fight, and that's that. Now I am going away, away, away, because past Games have told me the Careers will settle down at the Cornucopia most of the time.

If I succeed, and I'm not dead by morning, I will be off to find Harry Potter.

The guy who's with my little sister.

My mentor, Alice Longbottom, warned me. As far as she told me, a secret society is working against the Ministry to bring it down, and somehow, Harry Potter is supposed to become the key role. I don't know if he's aware of that. Alice is working for the group. They are recruiting members, and I agree with their goal. Alice said there are quite a few mentors who have tipped off their tributes.

I wonder if Ginny knows.

Or if anyone else believes.

I have my doubts.

But I'll find him.

* * *

**How was it? Reviews are appeciated :)**

**- Coco**


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